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Two days later–Voicemail from Asher
Hi Izzy. It’s Ash. Call me.
Five days after sex with Owen–Voicemail from Asher
Heya Iz. Haven’t heard from you in a while. Wanted to see if you’d like to catch a movie this weekend. Call me.
Ten days post selling out–Text from Asher
I’m worried. Send up a smoke signal Iz.
Twelve days since giving up on my dreams–Email from Asher
Did you skip town? Where are you?
Thirteen days into the emotional turmoil–Voicemail from Asher
Why do I feel like I’m getting the brush off? Did I do something wrong? I stopped by your house. Or should I say Owen’s house? Want to tell me what’s going on?
I flip my phone over and place it face down on the kitchen table, attempting to ignore Asher’s latest message. I’ve betrayed him. I feel like I cheated on him although we aren’t a couple. I think of all the effort Ash put in to helping me get quotes and how I sold out, anyway. Worse is that I couldn’t tell Asher what I did in the end. I didn’t want to disappoint him. I was hoping I could get away with a Haha, guess what I did? sort of conversation. Then I fucked Owen. Now the guessing game I planned has to be a statement: I did a thing. And that thing led to me sleeping with the enemy.
There’s a pounding on the door, and I jump, knocking over my mug of tea. It’s not him, I assure myself. Asher’s too polite to show up and demand that we speak. The visitor knocks again. It’s definitely a man’s knock; a heavy and purposeful fist banging into the wood. I call out that I’m coming as I toss a kitchen towel over my mess to accomplish the work of cleaning.
I peer through the peephole before daring to twist the deadbolt.
“Oh, shit!” I cry out.
“Oh, shit is right. Open up, Princess.”
He doesn’t yell, but he doesn’t sound pleased all the same.
“No,” I say, then press myself against the wall, trying to become a chameleon, as if he can see me through the one-way glass contraption in the door. “How do you know where I live?”
He doesn’t answer, giving me a chance to come up with one of my own. Kelsey and Scott, I mumble under my breath.
“I’m not leaving.”
“You’re going to stay out there for the rest of your life?”
He growls at me the same way as when I refused to come off my roof. At that same frequency that hits me in the solar plexus and radiates throughout my body, making me tremble.
“If I have to.”
I’d expected a different answer. I thought it would be along the lines of I don’t need to waste my time on this, or I have more important things to do because I’m a super important guy.
“Suit yourself,” I say, and get no response.
After a moment of silence, which feels like an eternity, I put my eye to the peephole. He’s bracing himself on the door with both muscled and inked arms outstretched, looking at the floor in utter exasperation. Dressed in the usual black on black like the epitome of sexual satisfaction, anyone eavesdropping would judge me a fool. He’s fucking hot as sin and he’s here for me.
I am a fool for sleeping with him in the first place. For letting myself think of that afternoon over and over again. For wishing on some level that we could be a normal couple who didn’t drive each other insane.
Ten minutes later and he hasn’t moved. I might as well hear what he has to say without letting the neighbours weigh in on it. Still watching him, I flip the lock and open the door just enough that I can fill the space. He doesn’t straighten, leaving his bowed head level with mine. His eyes bore through my skull, straight inside my mind to see my thoughts.
“Owen.”
“Princess.”
I glower at him. I thought we were past that. I thought that having given him my body would at least earn the use of my proper name. I’ll stop making assumptions about him.
“Let me in.”
“How about a ‘please’?”
“How about you stop ignoring my phone calls and we’ll have a conversation about social graces.”
Oh yeah, in addition to Asher calling me repeatedly, so has Owen. I’ve been ignoring that too. Him coming here makes avoidance much harder.
He steps into me and leaves me with no choice but to remain pressed against him or let him in. I don’t back away, submitting myself to the effect of him sliding his hard body against mine as he stands his ground too. My breasts tingle and reach out for him.
Betrayed by my own body.
God, he smells good. Freshly showered and hair still damp, the evidence of having spent the day painting still speckled on his hands and forearms. He left work to come talk to me. Owen never begs off work. He never sacrifices useable time. Time is money.
The irrational side of me likes that. The other half—the more mature, wilful, and reasonable half—hates it. He’s not playing fair. He’s supposed to play by the book rather than fly by the seat of his pants.
“You got in. What do you want?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“In case you don’t know this about yourself, nothing is obvious.”
“I left you messages.”
That’s his way of asking if I listened to them. Of course I did. Still, I shrug my shoulders in an I had no idea fashion for the pleasure of watching him seethe. He hates it when people don’t follow his command.
I’ve actually created a fun little game of it. When I find myself thinking about him and I fear falling down the rabbit hole of wanting to live happily ever after with him, I come up with ways to contradict him so he’ll get angry and call me Princess. I hate it when he calls me that.
“There’s nothing to fight about anymore,” he says, summarising his messages into one succinct statement.
Does he assume Gran’s home isn’t an issue between us anymore? That we’ve settled our differences and can move on?
Gran’s house will always be an issue, one afternoon of hot sex or not. I got caught up in the moment and couldn’t think beyond what I craved. I didn’t consider how I would feel after the fact.
I slept with him without running the full gamut of consequences. I didn’t consider the guilt around betraying Gran’s dying wish, no matter that it was unfounded. I didn’t consider Asher—a man too wonderful to crush with my traitorous act. Now that I have revisited our escapade from all the angles—all the tantalising angles—I comprehend how foolish it was. With this knowledge, I could never manage it again. I’d be doing it with my eyes wide open and it will lead to further anguish.
We may not have to glare at each other across the fence anymore, but I still hold on to the fact that he has my house.
“You don’t get it,” I say.
“Then explain.”
His response startles me. Why does he care? For the self-professed champion of the business-only title, he’s reaching way outside the box and well inside mine. This is my space. He can’t have this too.
I exhale a lasting breath. “I don’t know what you want, but we will never be more than adversaries who looked the other way for an afternoon.”
“Why not?” Because we hate each other. “We’re good together.” Apparently, there are no reasons to be with someone other than being great in the sack.
Regardless of how short-sighted his answer is, I can’t stop the blush from creeping across my chest and neck, settling on my cheeks. Owen smirks and drags his thumb across his bottom lip, pulling his mouth open, showing his teeth like a hungry wolf. The teeth that nipped at my thighs and tugged on my nipples a couple of weeks ago. The teeth I swear I can still feel if I try hard enough.
My unrestrained reaction is an invitation to him and steps into me. My arm flies forward, locked at the elbow.
He’s right. Once was good. But neither that nor his advances today change anything.
“You and I aren’t meant to be together.” I reassure myself that this—us—is wrong even when he makes me feel so good. At least in the parts of me that are ruled by hormones.
“Your mouth says no, but your body says yes. There’s more to us than sexual chemistry.” He refutes my earlier inner thought. “Fight it all you want, Iz, but it won’t change that we have the same goals and dreams.”
He digs his hands to the bottom of his pockets, making his upper arms flex as they push against the confines. I stare at his arms, scanning for signs of new ink. Something that shows life still moves on and time didn’t stall when I sold Gran’s home.
“You’re wrong. We don’t share those things, and I don’t need to fight any urges.” My eyes drop to the floor. I don’t owe him anything. He’s already taken everything that mattered to me. I muster my strength and stare at him. “You want an explanation? Here it is: Owen, when I look at you, all I see is my failure. I see Gran’s disappointment in me, and it breaks my heart.”
“No, Izzy.” His voice cracks, as if he experiences what I do when I think of her home. He reaches for me, but I back away again. He’s going to insist once more that the issues with the house were beyond my control.
I don’t want to hear it.
“You won’t change my mind. Nothing you say will make me feel better about selling.” He already seduced me into that—I won’t give him more.
Owen waits in case I waver. Seconds draw out, and with a final scrub of fingers across beard, his feet spin for the exit. I close my eyes, not able to look at his expression. The doorknob clicks when it turns and the air shifts as the door opens but doesn’t move again to signal that he’s left. I finally look up and find him with one foot in and one foot out of my house.
His back is to me when he speaks. “Yes, I will.”
***
I CALL ASHER A COUPLE days later and apologise profusely for being such a terrible person. I tell him the entire story, from how I marched into Brett’s office with sale papers already filled out to the shock I felt when I saw how much cash was in my bank account, omitting the X-rated parts, of course.
“Iz,” Asher says in his soothing tone that makes me want to crawl between his arms and snuggle.
“Yeah?”
“It was the right choice.”
“Really?” I could still use some convincing.
“Have you ever seen the movie, The Money Pit?”
I seem to be the single person who didn’t see the house’s faults. He laughs at my blind love for the place.
There’s a long pause on the phone, and I’m about to check if we got disconnected when Asher clears his throat.
“Do you like him?”
“Who?” comes out my instant response, then I quickly realise who he’s talking about. “Owen? No!” I never expected to have this conversation with Asher.
“The better question is, do you like me? And please don’t give me the ‘Of course, I like you, Asher.’ I mean, do I stand a chance with you?”
I want to throw up. I break out in a sweat and I pace around my bedroom, fanning myself. Like it’s going to help. The only thing that would help me now is a wind funnel to cool me off and blow me far, far away. To the Land of Oz where I can hang out with the Cowardly Lion.
“Ash,” I start and don’t finish because how do I say no without ruining the friendship?
“It’s okay, Iz. For a while, I thought that we’d move past being buddies, but I get it.” I don’t get it. I love Asher, just not like that. “Now that I’ve made things really awkward, I’m going to go. Bye, Iz.” He disconnects without letting me answer. Not that I had anything appeasing to say.
Goodbye, Asher, I say in my head as the first tear rolls down my cheek. Kelsey was right. I had two men and now I have zero.